Four Years

There’s a boy from my past,
He talked of how time flies fast,
And how at the break of day,
Dreams come to a sudden end.

Four years-
That’s how old our love would have been.
But at the age of Two,
His heart failed at love,
And mine just simply crashed,
And our love was deemed doomed.

See I wrote poems for him,
Not beacuse I was a poet-
But because in love every one is,
And so I was – deeply, madly in love.

I took the time,
I bled out for him.
I felt like I needed it –
To pour out my heart to him,
I lay it out piece by piece,
Feeling by feeling,
Vein by vein,
For him to see all its contents.

Like how hard it pumped each time he was next to me,
Or how my blood boiled and simmered each time he held my hand,
Or how it skipped a beat or two when he spoke my name.

He tried too.

Once he said,‘Sometimes I think you are too good for me.’
We learnt to say the right words,
In the wrongest of ways.

And I knew that my heart would pay the price,
Of entertaining his immensely futile attempts at loving me.
Still, I dedicated songs to him,
Songs that reminded me of him and his wet kisses and his gentle caresses,
Songs that made my heart beat to the rhythm of his love.

Songs that sadly, he never loved,
Or cared to listen to.

At two I plunged and toppled deeper,
While he hang on the edge,
As he watched me drowning,
Descending to the bottom of his messed up labyrinth,
Entangled in emotions that I had no control over,
Still held on to the tethers of his misguided qualms.

His hands got tied up,
Not in new and exciting, kinky ways;
They became selfish –
Denying me the comfort and gratification I so yearned for,
And the protection I deserved.
Those hands – they vitiated and blemished our love,
They smudged and smeared the ink with which his name,
Was imprinted on my heart.

At Two,

I kissed him and the sparks had dimmed.


On his lips, I tasted an impure love,
In his eyes, burned the beginning of our end.

There’s a boy from my past,
Four years –
That is how old our love would have been.



Hi Everyone!

I think I was meant to find some my old pieces tonight. I was getting rid of all the junk when I discovered that I had saved some of my best poems from more than five years ago. I particularly like this one – because weirdly I remember myself in that moment – reciting it quietly to myself and wanting to create something beautiful.Β 

And I think it is still a beautiful poem.Β 

I considered editing it a bit, but it just wouldn’t be the same.

β€» β€»β€» The thing aboutΒ growthΒ is that it allows you time to reflect. This was one of my best scripts that year. I honestly love the girl I was then and the fire I am slowly but surely, becoming. πŸ”₯

Some women fear the fire. Some women simply become it…Β R.H Sin

I hope y’all loved it. 😊